


Double or Nothing (Hellhound on My Trail)

by extraonions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_summergen, Disturbing Themes, Explicit Language, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extraonions/pseuds/extraonions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after Dean's deal comes due, Lilith offers Sam a new one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double or Nothing (Hellhound on My Trail)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stangerine88](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stangerine88).



> Please see this story [at my livejournal](http://extraonions.livejournal.com/84975.html) for notes and credits.

## Double or Nothing (Hellhound on My Trail)

 

> _"What have you done?" he cried; "Now you have made us both unlucky, for had you held out only this one year, I would have been free!" (East of the Sun, West of the Moon)_

  


* * *

  


  
Lilith found Sam Winchester in a bar just outside Pontiac, Illinois, almost two years to the day after he buried his brother. The demon was wearing a meatsuit that looked like Jessica, just enough to hurt, and Sam snarled wordlessly at her over his beer.

  
Lilith smiled prettily and sat next to him.

  
She had plans for Sam Winchester, important ones. His brother was proving to be a fly in the ointment, however, and Lilith couldn't have that. When big brother Dean broke, it would be a thing to behold indeed.

  
But Dean was stubborn, even more stubborn than John, and now after more than two hundred years beneath Alastair's knife, the Righteous Man had yet to spill blood in the bowels of Hell. That would never do.

  
It was time to speed things up. Lucifer was waiting.

  
"Tell me, Sam. Sweet Sam. Smart Sam. What do you know of Orpheus? What do you know of fair Agriope, lost beneath the earth?"

  
What do you know about Hell?"

  
And Sam? Sam _listened_.

  


* * *

  


  
Sam Winchester sealed the deal with Lilith in the parking lot of a seedy dive bar at dawn. "Remember, Sam," she cautioned him. "If Dean catches even the slightest glimpse of your face before the year is up, you're _mine_." She drew out the last word suggestively.

  
The deal Lilith offered was too good to be true, but Sam couldn't help himself. Why now, when Sam had tried and tried to make a crossroads deal himself and been turned down cold?

  
Already he was making plans, thinking about ways to keep off Dean's radar until his year was up. He couldn't explain it to Dean, couldn't warn him or risk breaking the deal, but it wouldn't matter. Sam would make sure it didn't matter.

  


* * *

  


  
Not far away, Dean Winchester's body was made flesh and drew breath, buried beneath the earth in a cheap pine box; his resting place hidden amongst trees and marked only by a crudely wrought wooden cross.

  
"H-help. Help?" wheezed Dean. He knew better. He knew there was no help; no mercy in Hell. Dean fumbled clumsy fingers against a lighter.

  
A coffin.

  
"Someone . . . anyone?" he whispered.

  
*****

  
"Oh, and Sam?" Lilith said, looking back over her shoulder at him. "Just one more thing. I've fulfilled my end of the bargain—Dean is alive and breathing." A wicked smile crossed the demon's face. "But I don't guarantee he'll stay that way for long."

  
Sam knew there had to be a catch. He clenched his fists and stared at Lilith. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

  
"How much air do you think a coffin holds, Sam? An hour? A half-hour? Fifteen minutes?" Sam gasped, paling as the realization dawned on him. His brother was . . . Dean was . . . .

  
Lilith laughed delightedly at his expression. "Better hurry, Sammy," she advised. "I don't think your brother has much time."

  
Cursing himself for all kinds of fool, Sam ran to the Impala, screeching out of the parking lot as if all the hounds of Hell were chasing him.

  
Realizing it had been Lilith's plan all along to force Sam to break the conditions of the deal, Sam thought the Hellhounds probably were.

  
It didn't matter.

  
Dean was the only thing that mattered.

  


* * *

  


  
"Dean?" Sam cried, striking frantically at the newly unearthed coffin with the butt of his shovel. "Dean, close your eyes!" The wood splintered and finally cracked. Panting, Sam dropped down on top of the lid and tore at the splintered planks until he broke a chunk free, terrified of what he would find. Was he already too late?

  
But Dean was alive. His brother was pale and drawn, gasping and choking, but breathing.

  
Alive.

  
"Sam?" Dean's voice was weak; hoarse. It was the best thing Sam had ever heard. His vision was blurred by tears as he reached a hand to rest over Dean's face. He ignored the flinch as his hand touched his brother.

  
"Dean, keep your eyes closed. No matter what, OK?" Dean nodded against his hand. Sam worked away more of the boards until he had a hole large enough to pull Dean out through. He pulled his brother close, half-sobbing in relief.

  
"Sam?" Dean sounded panicked, reaching out blindly. "Is it really you, Sammy? Is this . . . real?" Sam grabbed Dean by the wrists, his own voice thick with emotion.

  
"It's real, Dean. You're not in Hell anymore."

  
Dean stiffened against Sam. "What'd you do?" His voice was stronger now, suspicious. "You made a deal?" Before Sam could say anything, Dean's eyes flew open to glare at Sam accusingly.

  
Sam released Dean's wrists and backed away, but it was too late. Dean had already seen him. A child-like voice sounded out from behind them. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

  
Sam froze, and turned to look. A little girl in a white lacy dress and shiny new Mary Janes was leaning against the trunk of a tree. She wore her dark hair in loosely curled pigtails.

  
"Lilith."

  


* * *

  


  
"What a shame, Sam," Lilith said. She twirled around in a lazy pirouette. "I gave you the best of deals, and all you had to do was stay out of your brother's sight for one year." She turned to Dean, who was darting glances between Sam and Lilith.

  
"And you, my dear Dean. You looked. You failed, just like you failed to keep Sam from dying in the first place." Lilith waved her hand carelessly, and Sam disappeared with a terrified look on his face. "And now your brother is _mine_."

  
"Sam? SAMMY!" Dean fell to his knees and pounded at the earth. "No . . ."

  
Was this even real? Or was Dean still in Hell, trapped in yet another nightmare of Alastair's devising? There was no way to tell, but Dean wouldn't be Dean if he didn't try. Every goddamn time, how he tried. _Play it like it's real, Winchester_, he told himself. Somehow . . . he couldn't be sure, not really, except . . . that had been Sam.

  
Dean knew it in his gut.

  
In his _soul_.

  
Dean was sure he would know his little brother anywhere.

  
Dean cleared his throat and looked up at Lilith. "I want to make a deal."

  
"Oh, Dean. I was hoping you would say that." A slow smile spread across the Lilith's face.

  


* * *

  


  
"Please. Please, I am beggin' you," Dean said. "I'll do anything; I'll do whatever Alastair wants, _please_." And God help him, he would.

  
"Oh, you beg so prettily, Dean," Lilith said, circling him. "You always have." She crossed her arms and tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully.

  
"I know!" Lilith clapped her hands together in a parody of childish delight. "Let's play a game, Dean. I like it when we play games together." She beamed at Dean's instinctive shudder. Lilith's games were worse, so very much worse, than most anything Alastair could do to him.

  
"I've decided to give you a chance to get your brother back—and to make it extra super fun, if you win, neither one of you has to go to Hell! Isn't that nice of me? Of course, if you lose," Lilith continued with an unpleasant smile on her face, "You and Sammy are both mine for eternity."

  
Dean sucked in a breath. It couldn't possibly be that simple. With Lilith, nothing ever was. But if there was even the slightest chance . . . .

  
"Yes."

  
Lilith leaned in close to Dean's huddled form. He flinched. "It'll be just like 'hide and seek'. First, I hide Sammy. I already have. And then… well, you have to seek him, right? But you might have to hide too." Dean took in a shaky breath. He had to pull himself together; keep his shit straight for Sam's sake.

  
"You might have to hide a lot, because look who you'll be playing with!" Lilith turned her head, and one of her pigtails flopped against Dean's suddenly dry mouth.

  
No.

  
There was a Hellhound standing at the edge of the small clearing, melting from the trees like a shadow.

  
Like a nightmare.

  
While Lilith's attention was on the 'hound, Dean surreptitiously reached out for the demon-killing knife, forgotten in the grass beside him, and tucked it away.

  
The Hellhound growled and it sent an atavistic chill crawling down Dean's spine. He felt frozen in terror. The 'hound slunk towards Lilith in an ever-narrowing circle. Lilith reached out to stroke the beast's head when it reached her. "Aren't you a good doggy?" Lilith squealed before turning her attention back to Dean.

  
"Are you better at hide and seek than Sammy?" Lilith asked. She struck a whimsical pose, twirling a swath of loose curls around her finger as she contemplated Dean. "He wasn't very fun to play with, you know."

  
Lilith's borrowed flesh smelled of little girl smells—cherry lip gloss and fruity shampoo. Dean closed his eyes in despair. He hoped the child was dead. Better dead than silently screaming from behind Lilith's demon eyes.

  
"Find your brother, Dean. Find Sam, before my Hellhound finds you, and drags you back where you belong." Lilith's little girl hands were clutched painfully tight against the scruff of the slavering 'hound's neck. Dean stumbled backwards, eyes never leaving the hulking beast. A low growl echoed around them, raising the fine hairs at the back of Dean's neck and all along his body.

  
Lilith darted forward and pecked Dean on the forehead. "There," she beamed at him. "There's your deal."

  
Then Lilith's eyes rolled over milky white and an unholy smirk crossed the child-like face.

  
"Run."

  
Dean ran.

  


* * *

  


  
_Runrunrun! Hunt! Kill! Runrunrun! Scentpack? Killkillkill! Prey? Pack?_

  
Instinct was pitted against instinct—the scent of pack, of Kin, warring with the call for blood and flesh and Hell's dark purpose.

  
_Brother._

  
The 'hound closed in on his prey, howling mournfully.

  


* * *

  


  
Agonized cries were torn from Dean's throat as the Hellhound's teeth found purchase against his forearm, causing him to fumble his grip on the demon killing knife. If not for the thick leather of his jacket, his flesh would have been stripped to the bone.

  
As it was, the sleeve ripped apart like so much tissue paper, and his skin was shredded in deep rending tears. His fingers felt numb; clumsy, but Dean slashed desperately at the 'hound's face, catching at it with a shallow gash down the left side of its face.

  
It snarled and snapped at Dean, all brimstone breath and acid slobber, but it let go of Dean's arm to do so and that was all Dean needed. He stabbed the beast once; twice in quick succession, up under the ribs and along its side. The beast roared out in furious agony. Dean curled his legs up and shoved at the 'hound with all his remaining strength, sending it flailing through the air to land against a giant tree trunk with a dull thud. It yelped sharply and fell to the ground, momentarily stunned.

  
Dean gritted his teeth and rode out the pain from the bite, his breath coming out in a sharp staccato of pants and moans as he rolled over and stumbled away.

  
_SamSamWhere?SamSammy?Please . . ._ ran like a litany through Dean's mind as he cast about for something to bind his arm with. Adrenalin coursed through Dean's veins, temporarily warding off shock. He slashed at his shirt and ripped away a good strip of the filthy fabric to wrap around the throbbing wound, hissing as he tied it off with his teeth.

  
This was nothing compared to what waited for Dean in Hell. What waited for _Sam_ if Dean allowed himself to be taken. A glance backwards confirmed that the Hellhound was still disoriented, but was already struggling to its feet.

  
The thought of Sam on the rack, stretched out under Alastair's knife, was too horrible to contemplate. Even worse, was the thought of his brother stretched out before Dean's knife—because Dean couldn't fool himself. Another stint in Hell would break him.

  


* * *

  


  
Hot, fetid breath ghosted against his face and a gobbet of slobber splashed down against his cheek, sizzling against his flesh.

  
At least he'd seen the sun again. He had smelled fresh air and wet, molding leaves. Dying again wouldn't be so bad, if only Dean wasn't sure he was taking Sam with him.

  
"Sammy," he whispered, "M'sorry." Dean squeezed his eyes tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners. He'd failed. This was it. End of the road.

  
Dean steeled himself for his death, but he'd be damned (_Already damned, Winchester, why the Hell not go for broke?_) if he didn't take this Hellhound out with him. He tightened his grip on the knife, the handle tacky with blood, and angled it up against the beast's throat. No way would Dean win this, not with the beast on top of him. Dean just hoped if he took the 'hound out first, Sam would be spared Hell even if Dean went back.

  
But the end didn't come. Dean was somehow still breathing. He opened his eyes. He was still pinned by the Hellhound with his knife at its throat; the two of them locked in a frozen tableau of impending death. What. The. Fuck?

  
Dean narrowed his eyes at the 'hound. His heart was like a jackhammer against his ribs, blood roaring in his ears, and for a moment he thought he might pass out. It made no sense, unless . . . unless. . . .

  
"S—sam?" Dean gaped at the 'hound in disbelief. It stared back, and for a moment—just the briefest moment—Dean could see his little brother looking back at him from beneath the 'hound's horrible visage.

  
"You are Sam!" Dean exclaimed. The Hellhound . . . no, Sam—Fucking Hell, it was Sam—lowered his muzzle against Dean's chest. Dean reached out his hand, ran it along the side of his face wonderingly. "You're my brother." Sam whined.

  
Then, louder, he shouted, "You hear that, you BITCH? I found him. I won! You're fucking finished."

  
And just like that, Sam was Sam again, clutching Dean to his chest and babbling at him brokenly.

  


* * *

  


  
"You found me. Dean, you found me," Sam's voice was muffled against Dean's chest, tears soaking into his shirt.

  
"I'll always find you," Dean promised, wearily patting Sam's messy, filthy hair as if he were still a little boy afraid of the dark. "Besides, you're the one who saved me, Sam. I'm going to kick your ass for making that deal, by the way."

  
"Don't care," Sam replied, pulling away from Dean's one armed embrace to look at him earnestly. "I promised I'd save you, and I did." Sam frowned at Dean with his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry it took so long, man. Two years in Hell. I'm so damn sorry."

  
Dean froze, looked away from Sam at the ground, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. If Sam didn't know—if he thought it had really only been two years—well, Dean wasn't going to be the one to burst _that_ bubble. Dean met Sam's eyes. "Two years is nothing," he said, truthfully. "Coulda been a lot longer." He paused before adding, "I'm still gonna to kick your ass though."

  
"You can try," Sam said, prodding experimentally at the long gash along his side.

  
Dean mocked punched at Sam's face and winced as his ribs protested the sudden movement. Sam leaned towards him with concern and Dean waved him off.

  
"Ugh, you have Hellhound breath," Dean griped, trying to lighten the mood. That startled a choked laugh from Sam.

  
"If my breath smells bad, it's only because I was gnawing on _you_!" Sam shot back. "When I get rabies, we'll know why."

  
Dean picked up the discarded knife and tucked it away. "Bitch."

  
Sam snorted. "Jerk."

  
They grinned at each other like lunatics. "Help a man up, Sasquatch," Dean demanded.

  
Together, the brothers helped each other to stand and began the long, slow stagger back to the Impala. They had some patching up to do, sure, but after that? Lilith was going _down_.

  
Yeah. They were going to be just fine.

  


* * *

  



End file.
